


two-way street

by adrianicsea



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Drift Bond, M/M, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 17:57:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10972449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianicsea/pseuds/adrianicsea
Summary: Ever since they Drifted, Hermann finds working with Newt much easier and more enjoyable. If only that were the only thing that changed.





	two-way street

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written as a gift for a secret Santa event some friends of mine had last Christmas! I had kind of forgotten I wrote it, until I found it again digging through my fic folders just now. I hope you all enjoy it as much as the original recipient did!

“Newton,” Hermann sighs, his patience running thin. “Please move.”

But of course, he does not move. Newton stands still, staring defiantly up at Hermann, just like he always does.

“Herms, you _know_ I’m right!” he protests. “And I _know_ you know, because I can _feel_ it.”

Hermann doesn’t say anything for a long moment. He just grumbles to himself and glares down at Newton, trying in vain to intimidate him away. The most infuriating thing, Hermann thinks, is that he _does_ know Newton is right.

They hadn’t talked about it for one reason or another—Hermann suspects it’s simply because they haven’t had time yet—but ever since the two of them had Drifted, things had been… Well, _different_ between them.

For one thing, it seemed they’d finally unlocked the secret to working _around_ one another, not against each other. It was especially noticeable now that things had calmed down and they were back in the lab. They still argued; Hermann had long since given up on anything fixing that. But now, their arguments were less of the “I know you hid my glasses, Newton” variety and more of the… to put it bluntly, of the _important_ variety. Most of their arguments these days were about science and theory. One could almost call them debates, Hermann thinks.

If the only change had been the shift in their lab dynamic, Hermann would be more than pleased with the current state of things between him and Newton. But, alas, it wasn’t the only thing that changed. Ever since Drifting with Newton, Hermann kept getting flashes of thoughts and emotions that were not his own. It started innocuously enough—a stray memory of sitting in a tattoo parlor here, an errant flash of admiration for the Kaiju there. But it didn’t stop. If anything, it had only gotten more intense. As things stood between them now, Hermann felt he could tell, at least on a general level, what Newton was thinking or feeling at any given moment. What was worse, Newton could do the same. It was difficult to describe, but Hermann could _feel_ Newton’s presence in his mind, equal parts annoying and comforting—rather like the man himself.

Newton quirks an eyebrow at Hermann, and he realizes he has yet to answer him.

“…You know I don’t like it when you call me that,” Hermann mutters. He begins to turn away from Newton, ready to end the conversation, but Newton stops him, reaching out to grab Hermann by his sleeve.

“And you know I can tell when you’re lying,” Newton retorts, smirking at him. Hermann huffs, but doesn’t move to shake off Newton’s hand.

“I was in the middle of something when you interrupted me.” Hermann gives a long-suffering sigh, fixing Newton with an exasperated look. “So, please, Newt, if you would just—“

Newton’s grip loosens. He looks up at Hermann, his smile only widening.

“You just called me Newt.”

Hermann flushes and stammers. Against the wash of embarrassment he feels, there’s a splash of smug happiness in Hermann’s head that decidedly isn’t his own.

“I…” Hermann hesitates, trying to decide how best to excuse the slip of the tongue. Not that it matters, he grudgingly supposes; Newton can tell what he’s feeling regardless.

“…Only because of the Drift,” Hermann finishes. That’s as close to a clean explanation as he’s going to get. Newton obligingly drops his hand from Hermann’s arm, but he’s still staring up at him, his expression changing from one of smugness to innocent excitement.

“So you admit it?!” Newton asks, crowding still closer to Hermann. “You feel it too?”

In the face of Newton’s (quite literally) infectious happiness, Hermann can’t help but smile. _Just_ because of Newton, though. Certainly, Hermann has no reason to be happy about this turn of events.

“Yes, Newton,” he finally admits, still smiling. “Whatever it is, I feel it too.” Then, after a beat of silence: “You’re right.”

Newton looks so thrilled at the first part of Hermann’s statement that he, apparently, completely forgets the two of them were originally arguing. Where he would once have replied with a snarky grin and an “I knew it,” he now steps closer, enveloping Hermann in a sudden hug.

That catches Hermann off-guard, even with the newfound insight he has to Newton’s feelings. Newton has always been a tactile person, Hermann knows; Newton once told him, in one of his letters from so long ago, that he enjoyed biology because it was something that he could see and touch. He’d never been someone with the patience or the aptitude for the theoretical. Still, though, Newton had never extended his touchiness to Hermann. Prior to now, Hermann had assumed it was merely out of respect for him, but the undercurrent of nerves he can feel from Newton now suggests that it’s something more.

“Newt,” Hermann breathes haltingly, “What are you doing?”

Newton—Newt—just looks up at him, smiling wide. Hermann wants to be irritated with him, he truly does. Newt smells like his usual mix of formaldehyde, sweat, stale coffee, and cheap aftershave; the last of these ironic, since he clearly hasn’t shaved in at least a few days. His perpetually red-rimmed eyes look even more bruised than usual. Hermann sighs to himself as he wonders how much sleep Newt’s gotten in the past week.

“You said you feel it too,” Newt explains, still smiling up at Hermann. Hermann looks back down at him in confusion, eyebrows furrowed, not understanding.

“Feel what--?”

Another spike of nerves from Newt. Hermann frowns and, for the first time, deliberately examines the current of emotions he’s getting from his partner. It’s not like Newt to be nervous, especially around Hermann. So what’s causing him to act this way now?

On seeing Hermann’s face, Newt steps away, dropping his arms and releasing Hermann from the hug. He’s still standing close, though, gazing up at Hermann with a look that almost seems… Wounded?

“Herms,” Newt mumbles, “You said--”

Hermann shushes him, impulsively reaching out a long finger to place against Newt’s lips. Newt flushes at the contact—indignation, Hermann thinks—but, surprisingly enough, obeys.

“Give me a moment,” Hermann murmurs in reply.

Still focusing on Newt’s emotions, Hermann tries to follow them, hoping to reach their source. It’s like grabbing onto a silver silk rope—so enticing and just _there_ , but so difficult to keep one’s grip on. The frisson of nervousness coming from Newt is easiest to follow, so Hermann starts with that, tracing it along. Hermann finds that it leads to insecurity; an entire tangled ball of insecurity, in fact, far too large and intimidating to address right now. Moving past it, though, Hermann can feel a vague… Something. What is it?

Suddenly, it stops being vague.

_Affection. Attraction. I_ like _you._

The words and feelings echo in Hermann’s head like a bell, as clearly as if he was feeling them himself. Hermann drops his hand, staring in disbelief at Newt.

“Newton, you…”

He swallows.

“Did you do that on purpose?” Hermann finally asks, settling for the easy question first. Newt rolls his eyes, and the pink splash of warmth Hermann felt is swallowed up by a wave of irritation.

“Yeah, dude.” Newt waves a hand between his chest and Hermann’s. “Maybe if you bothered to actually _use_ this thing we have instead of just ignoring it all the time, you’d know how to do it too.”

Hermann swallows. A small voice in the back of his head—his or Newt’s? He can’t tell—reminds him that that’s what they had been arguing about in the first place.

“Well…” Hermann trails off, uncertain of what to say next.

“…That’s fair,” he finally finishes. Then, heat rising to his cheeks, he grudgingly asks Newt the hard question.

“Did you mean that?”

_Impatience. Irritation. Anxiety. Fondness. Affection. Want._ They all flood Hermann’s head at once, each of them battling to get the most attention. Newt steps closer again, though this time he’s watching Hermann’s face carefully as he does.

“You know I do,” he says, voice surprisingly low and gentle. “You’ve known ever since we Drifted.”

As hard as Hermann had tried to ignore Newt’s feelings in his head, out of a sense of respect for Newt’s privacy, it was impossible to ignore the strong, recurring pulse of attraction Newt felt whenever the two of them brushed against one another or shared a passing glance that lasted just a moment too long.

“… Yes,” Hermann agrees.

“And…” Newt takes another step closer, biting his lip.

“I know that you feel it too.”

Hermann is silent, his jaw clenching as he feels his cheeks grow hotter. He’d tried to keep his own emotions clamped down, to prevent himself from broadcasting them and to prevent Newt from seeing them. The last thing Hermann had wanted to do was to scare Newt away with years of pent-up, unrequited feelings, especially when they had finally learned how to work together so well.

Apparently, though, all of Hermann’s worrying had been for nothing.

Hermann blinks and realizes with sudden surprise that Newt has stepped even closer to him while he was thinking. Newt now stands against him once more, their chests brushing together with each breath.

He smiles up at Hermann.

“Come on, Herms,” he whispers.

Hermann swallows, trying desperately to fight down his nerves. He turns away momentarily to lean his cane against a nearby desk. Finally, hands free, Hermann permits himself this.

As he leans down towards Newt, Newt comes up on his toes to meet him halfway. Hermann brings up one hand to gently, tentatively cradle Newt’s jaw, pulling him into a hesitant kiss.

An explosion of reds and pinks goes off in Hermann’s head, and he can’t tell who it’s coming from.


End file.
